Last night I was allowed off "house arrest" to make a very careful and quick drive to the local grocery store to buy wrapping paper, tape, labels and bows so I could wrap my holiday gifties.
Note: Grocery stores have the crappiest wrapping papers on Earth. (Cwrapping Paper) They do not have labels, so I had to improvise. I bought a package of white mailing labels and a few packages of smiley face stickers. The bows were bagged basics - thirty-gazillion for a buck fifty. Martha Stewart would have frowned at my mismatched cwrapping paper kit.
I like to wrap presents on the floor. I can spread all the papers and presents out and make a big mess. The whole process of peeling stickers, cutting, taping and labeling the packages puts me right into the holiday spirit and my mood soars like a Christmas star. Sick? Maybe.
This year I've got a bit of a mobility problem, so I carefully arranged the paper, tape, labels, stickers, bows and pens all within 8-month-pregnancy-belly reach, and prepared myself to plop. Once I landed, I wasn't going to be able to get up again for a good, long while, so I had to make sure I had EVERYTHING I needed.
I landed on the floor with a hearty BOOM and scared the whiskers off the cat. She jetted off to hide in the litter box.
Once I realized that bending at the waist wasn't an option, I figured out how to manipulate the cwrapping paper rolls and cut them without bending at all. I was pretty proud. I cut. I folded. I taped. I stickered and labeled. I bowed. I admired.
With one package cwrapped and looking not too horrific, I patted myself on the back and gave the package a good shove off to the side of the room, well out of my way, and unfortunately, also well out of my reach.
Skittish kitty returned to investigate my progress and hopped right up on top of my first cwrapped Christmas package of the year. She looked at me intently, as if gauging the swatting distance between us.
And then she promptly barfed all over the top of the package.
I couldn't swat. I couldn't get up to chase her away. All I could do is stare in disgust and disbelief with my jaw on the floor - trying not to blast into a fit of dry-heaves.
I suppose it was payback for scaring the hairballs out of her when I plopped on the floor.
Note to friends and relatives: It was Brian's gift, not yours, so don't get all grossed out.
I cursed loudly as I hoisted my big Elizabody off the floor and unwrapped the gift carefully, making sure the vomit stayed in one place - and did not get on ME.
I managed to clean everything up and 5 hours, 3 glasses of water, 14 potty breaks, 2 phone calls, 3 snacks, and 6 TUMS later, I was finished. Despite the ugly cwrapping paper and bows, mailing label gift tags and smiley face stickers, the pile looks pretty festive.
So for all those third-trimester cat-battling pregnant gift-cwrapping women out there, just remember:
"There are three reasons for breast-feeding: the milk is always at the right temperature; it comes in attractive containers; and the cat can't get it." ~Irena Chalmers
Peace, till next